"There's somethin' damned funny about this," growled Soames, at last. "But what I want to know is why you let her go—whatever the hell she was?"
"Because I thought we'd have a better chance if I did than if I didn't." Graydon's own wrath was rising. "I tell you that we're up against something none of us knows anything about. And we've got just one chance of getting out of the mess. If I'd kept her here, we wouldn't have even that chance."
Dan stooped, and picked up something from the ground, something that gleamed yellow in the firelight. "Something funny is right, Soames," he said. "Look at this!" He handed the gleaming object over. It was a golden bracelet, and as Soames turned it over in his hand there was the green glitter of emeralds. It had been torn from Sierra's arm, undoubtedly, in her struggle with Starrett.
"What that girl give you to let her go, Graydon, eh?" Dan spat. "What she tell you, eh?" Soames's hand dropped to his automatic. "She gave me nothing. I took nothing," answered Graydon. "I think you damned liar," said Dan, viciously. "We get Starrett awake," he turned to
Soames. "We get him awake quick. I think he tell us more about this. A girl who wears stuff like this—and he lets her go! Lets her go when he knows there must be more where this come from—eh, Soames! Damned funny is right, eh? Come now, we see what Starrett tell us."
Graydon watched them go into the tent. Soon Soames came out, went to a spring that bubbled up from among the trees; returned, with water. Well, let them waken Starrett; let him tell them whatever he would. They would not kill him that night, of that he was sure. They believed that he knew too much. And in the morning—What was hidden in the morning for them all? That even now they were prisoners, Graydon was sure. Suarra's warning not to leave the camp had been explicit. Since that tumult of the elfin horns, her swift vanishing and the silence that had followed, he no longer doubted that they had strayed, as she had said, within the grasp of some power as formidable as it was mysterious.
The silence? Suddenly it came to him that the night had become strangely still. There was no sound either of insect or bird, nor any stirring of the familiar after-twilight life of the wilderness. The camp was besieged by silence!
He walked away through the algarrobas. There was a scant score of the trees. They stood like a little leafy island peak within the brush-covered savanna. They were great trees, every one of them, and set with a curious regularity; as though they had not sprung up by chance; as though indeed they had been carefully planted.
Graydon reached the last of them, rested a hand against a bole that was like myriads of tiny grubs turned to soft brown wood. He peered out. The slope that lay before him was flooded with moonlight; the yellow blooms of the chilaca shrubs that pressed to the very feet of the trees shone wanly in the silver flood. The faintly aromatic fragrance of the quinoa stole around him. Movement or sign of life there was none.